


War and Peace

by Blandings13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Fluff, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blandings13/pseuds/Blandings13
Summary: In a world without the Super Soldier Serum, Steve Rogers never goes to War but finds another calling.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: Quote Prompt Memes





	War and Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Know_It_All_Hermione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Know_It_All_Hermione/pseuds/Know_It_All_Hermione) in the [quoteonlyprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quoteonlyprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you"

‘Interesting take, Steve. If we tweak this tiny lever here, we could maybe increase the magazine to hold more than the standard thirty rounds.’

‘That’s what I’m saying.’

Howard grunted and flicked a finger over his mustache thoughtfully. His motions were mechanical as he took his suit jacket off and draped it over a nearby chair. He rolled up his sleeves and seated himself on a stool, wheeling himself closer to the workbench.

Steve knew he wouldn’t surface for the next few hours, at least until he had a working prototype of the Submachine gun ready. Steve seated himself at a table and chair on the other end of the room, and pulled his notebook close. He had been working on a few different projects- some more weapons for the war, and others for his hopes in a more peaceful time.

He had an idea to improve the existing modes of developing energy. He wanted to explore other, more sustainable sources of power, such as wind, water, and the sun. He believed that if he could somehow harvest what was already available, these sources could, at the very least, power an entire building. He did not have much support on his ideas, as the entire world was focused on ‘winning’ the war, but Steve persevered on his own.

He hummed quietly to himself to drown out Howard’s muttering from the other end of the room. He made some more notes and studied the diagrams he had so far. Slugging coffee from the mug at his elbow, he tried to clear his head and concentrate on the work at hand. But his brain continued to buzz restlessly.

He rifled through the drawers at his desk, searching for inspiration, and his eyes fell on a half-empty strip of old aminophylline tablets that he had taken intermittently for his asthma. He smiled reminiscently and marveled, for perhaps the hundredth time, at how different he was now from the asthmatic boy whose sole aim had been to get drafted and fight for his country.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but Dr Erskine had finally managed to convince him that his body was far weaker than his mind. He smiled now at the stroke of luck by which he had first met Abraham Erskine, and thanked his stars for Bucky’s insistence that they go to that fateful Stark Expo.

Bucky had been drafted and had left for the war, but the doctor had taken an interest in Steve and had essentially taken him under his wing. He had thought Steve to possess some unidentifiable quality, and had kept beating at the walls inside his brain until Steve gave up on the idea of joining the army. Erskine had introduced him to Howard, and together, they had come up with a form of treatment for Steve. The treatment had ensured that Steve would live a healthy life- his asthma and lungs were much better than before, and his heart was almost good as new, the two scientists had assured him. Steve liked to think that he had even grown a few inches taller, but something in the glance the scientists had exchanged when he voiced this thought made him mistrust its accuracy.

He had given up on joining the army, but still wanted to do something for his country. He had ended up working for Howard in one of his laboratories. Though he had no formal education in the field, he had picked up enough science from the conversations around him. Moreover, he was never shy to ask probing questions of the geniuses, and after three years of hard work, he was now able to contribute in real ways. Howard had supplied a lot of the books that he had studied through long, seemingly endless nights. His own brand of practicality and tenacity had served him well, and had even earned him the grudging respect of Howard Stark.

The only thing missing in his life, was Bucky.

He had sent Bucky a few letters over the years, but Bucky’s responses were few and far in between. He hadn’t heard anything from his best friend in the past four months. Every night when he returned to his old apartment in downtown Brooklyn, he felt… alone. Terrifyingly alone. He followed each announcement of military casualties feverishly, fingers shaking and heart hammering. The worry was constant and never-ending.

He tried to spend as much time as possible at work. These scientists and engineers now seemed like a strange sort of family to him. A family that teased him mercilessly and occasionally invited him over for Sunday dinner if they felt too sorry for him. They were all older than him, with wives and kids and houses and pets.

He missed the connection he had with Bucky. How Bucky knew everything he was thinking before he actually thought it. How Bucky never tired of being there for him, through thick and more frequently, through thin. He missed Bucky’s hand on his shoulder, the smile in his eyes, his calm acceptance of everything Steve was, and his resignation to follow up on each one of Steve’s half-baked ideas.

Steve knew he loved Bucky, loved him more than it was possible to love a friend. Loved him in ways that society frowned upon and forbade. But he still went on loving.

Steve knew tonight would be no different. There had been rumors of the war ending, but for once in his life, Steve did not care who won. He was only aware of what he, Steve, had lost. As he climbed the two flights of stairs to his apartment, a bag of takeout in one hand and the other rummaging in his pocket for the keys, he felt hopelessly lost.

He had one flight to go when he heard a rustling noise. Looking up, he saw a figure on the landing in front of his own front door. For a second he thought he had finally cracked. This was wish-fulfilment and his brain was giving him exactly what he wanted. But then his eyes noticed subtle differences between the man in front of him and the one he remembered, and the truth sank in.

Bucky was standing at the top of the steps. He was wearing his uniform. One hand was curved over his shoulder, holding the rucksack at his back, and the other hand was in the pocket of his trousers. Under the hat, his head was tilted to one side. He stood straight and proud, as was his habit, but his shoulders stooped slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and ghosts. But his lips were smiling at Steve.

He pulled the hand out of his pocket and held up Steve’s spare key in his fingers. ‘You should think of a new hiding place for this, you know?’ he croaked.

Steve laughed and climbed the rest of the stairs carefully.

‘Buck,’ he said, and buried his face in Bucky’s neck. The rucksack and takeout bag fell to the floor. Two sets of arms drew around and held the other. Both sets of eyes were closed. Noses breathed deeply to savor and reassure that the other person was, in fact, real.

They still kept a hand around each other as Steve opened the apartment door. Bucky held both his rucksack and the takeout bag in one hand.

‘Are you taller?’ Bucky said in confusion, dropping the rucksack on the threshold and walking over to place the food on a table.

‘It’s nice to see you, Buck,’ Steve smiled.

***

A month had passed since Bucky returned from the war. The nightmares came nightly. Bucky would scream and yell and pray unintelligibly, until Steve held him close and soothed him, one gentle hand stroking through his hair.

They would talk about it. They would go out, to the cinema sometimes, or to a restaurant, and Steve could see Bucky returning to him, piece by piece. Bucky started working as a mechanic at a neighborhood garage, and Steve encouraged him to talk to people more, to learn about their lives, to connect, to ground himself.

Then one night, after nearly two months had passed since the war, Bucky did something he had never done before.

Steve came home from work before Bucky did. As Steve waited, he thought he would boil some spaghetti and have it ready for whatever Bucky wanted to toss it with. Bucky did not trust Steve to cook, and Steve agreed privately that he was not a good fit in the kitchen.

He put the full pot on the burner and added salt, waiting for the water to boil. Tying an apron around himself, he thought he could probably dice up some tomatoes and onions without hurting himself or the kitchen too badly.

He started with the tomatoes and nearly sliced a finger off almost immediately.

Bucky walked in and was shocked to see Steve dressed in the apron, adding the pasta into the boiling water.

‘Steve,’ he said, his tone a mixture of greeting and warning.

‘I’m not doing anything!’ Steve said, panicking.

Bucky chuckled. He walked over to Steve, his clothes covered in specks of grease and motor oil.

‘What?’ Steve asked. ‘Was I not supposed to salt the water?’

Still smiling, Bucky put his arms around Steve. He held him for a minute and Steve relaxed against him, holding him close.

‘Buck?’ Steve asked, when minutes passed, and Bucky still didn’t let him go.

‘Steve,’ Bucky said softly, some strange emotion in his voice. ‘The war…I lost so much. I did not know it was possible for me to have anything back. Each minute I was there, watching people kill each other, watching children being blown apart, I thanked God you weren’t there. At the same time, I wished for you.’

Steve pulled himself from Bucky’s chest to see tears glistening in his eyes. ‘It’s okay, Buck. I’m here now.’ He stroked his fingers over Bucky’s face, wiping the tears away.

Bucky smiled sadly at him and said, ‘I’m broken, Steve. They made us murder each other and called it a war. I thought, after it was over, I thought everything was lost. But I’m ashamed at how easily you’ve made me forget it.’

‘What are you saying? I thought it was getting better?’

‘It is, Steve. You make it better. You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.’

Steve’s throat closed and he felt tears prickling at the corners of his own eyes. ‘Till the end of the line?’ he asked.

Bucky nodded, but his eyes were still sad.

Entrusting everything to the fates, Steve pulled Bucky close again, covering his lips with his own. His left hand curved around Bucky’s cheek and angled his face closer, while the right one curled into Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s arms banded around Steve’s waist and held him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.

They kissed each other with easy familiarity, as if they had been doing this for years, as if this was not the first time.

‘I love you, Buck,’ Steve said a while later.

‘You’ve burned the pasta,’ Bucky smiled.


End file.
